Post by phrostphyre on Oct 17, 2010 18:42:52 GMT -5
Name:Brian Conchobhar MacTìre, also goes by Black Brian, or Brian Dubh
Age: 19
Race:Werewolf
Occupation:Bagpiper in the Royal Alban Longbowmen and Skirmishers, a sub unit of the Savage Faithful, one of the many pipers for the Savage Faithful over all. When not piping, he’s a Skirmisher or Longbowman
Allegiance:Broddring Kingdom, King Angrenost, and the King’s household.
Physical Description:Tall, as most barbarians, and the Gaels, especially are, Brian reaches a height of 6’3½”. His hair is black, giving rise to his name, Brian Dubh, while it is a relic from a Hispaniola warrior invader of Alba. His eyes are green, a left over from a Scandian invader. He’s got a good pair of lungs, useful when playing the Great Northern Pipes from Alba. His low brow and deep-set eyes give him a near constant angry appearance, enhanced when in thought. His chin is covered in a brown growth of beard, seeming to make his jaw line disappear. Long hours piping and drawing a longbow have given his muscles strength, though they have a stringy appearance. He’s scrawny and gangly, like any tall youth, though he has the grace and coordination of a wolf, but his nose still has the snub of boyhood, due to his age.
His sword is the basket hilt variety, the blade thirty-one inches long, typical of Alban swords, while his dirk’s blade is seventeen inches long. The sgian dubh, or black knife, has a blade three inches long and is kept in the stockings. The stocking is worn with the war kilt, belted on, with loose material gathered up and tossed over the shoulder not used to wield a sword, attached to a waistcoat or shirt. Brian’s kilt is the typical hunting kilt; dark muted colors of the brown, blue, and green variety. His longbow is the oak of the Alban Highlands, but it has a core of yew. The arrows for it are three feet monsters, while the bow is in proportion: six feet.
Personality: Fun loving, life loving, enjoying nothing more than a good joke, and easy-going, Brian has made many friends among his fellow Savage Faithful, and even civilian servants serving the Division. His main past time when not on duty, not sleeping, and when not chasing deer as wolf in the forest outside Carvala, Brian is a chevalier and lover. Well versed in the arts of love and witty repartee, thanks to his education as a major clan chieftain’s son in Alba, he can discuss art, politics, military tactics, history, and shoot down the major religion of the Broddring Kingdom while defending his own paganism with a zeal worthy of a Crusader.
Well able to compose poetry, Brian has used that ability to woo women into his bed, or more accurately, let him into theirs. Though young, he uses his boyish charm to great effect in his passionate conquests. He views each and every woman as a beautiful goddess to be worshiped at the altar of a bed.
History: Born nineteen years ago to a major clan “Laird”(Alagaesian equivalent is a petty king, united under a High King), Brian was educated in the subjects deemed appropriate by his father from age four, namely manners, sword fighting, stealth, art, classical poetry, music, history, bagpipe playing, arithmetic, languages, sword dancing, and everything of that vein; namely something that would land him a wife. At age twelve, Brian went on his first cattle raid with an uncle. He came back with a lump on his head and two kine to his name. In the tradition of the Gaels, Brian went on many raids, but on one in his seventeenth year, he first made love to the daughter of an enemy laird. Promptly discovered, the laird demanded satisfaction. Brian agreed, and they dueled. Brian won, but in the process killed the laird, causing Brian to flee from retribution.
Brian turned to Alagaesia; a land rife with opportunities for a man brave and willing enough to seize them. Seize them he did; he enlisted in the Savage Faithful as an Alban longbow man and bagpipe player.
It was on a routine patrol in the ninth month of his seventeenth year with three other longbow men, forming a bowteam and two swordsmen, when they encountered a huge wolf, larger than anything any of the other men had seen. In the ensuring fight, it killed four, bit Brian and the other man, and fled with Brian’s arrow sticking out its side. Brian had killed it, but at a cost he would forever regret. The other man died, while at the first full moon Brian turned into a black-brown wolf, the size of a small bear. He fled the city as a wolf, refusing to kill the citizens he had sworn an oath for, refusing the scents of blood and life to escape to the comfort of a forest. In it Brian tried to come to terms with his new reality, but the scent of a stag maddened him and sent him careening through the trees. He brought it down with a snap to the great river of blood in the neck, and he feasted on raw deer flesh.
In the morning he came to his senses naked, in a clearing, with a ravaged deer carcass near him, and a pile of vomit four feet away. As Brian sat trying to remember the previous night, a gust of wind brought the scent of a sheep to him. It was a mile away, and when Brian smelled it, the night came back in a rush. He groaned. His name had come true; MacTìre meant “Son of the countryside”, which was poetic Alban Gaelic for wolf. He truly was a wolf. Brian despaired for ten minutes, when a thought came to him. Why despair? He could live life the same, save he had to keep his temper under control at all times and make sure he was gone on overnight camping trips on the full moon. Brian returned to Carvala, and pretended nothing had happened. He managed to keep himself under fairly good self-control, until the time he miscalculated the full moon. It was the twelfth month of his seventeenth year. He was in the bed of a lover, when he woke as a wolf. He managed to only badly disfigure her, not kill her, and since he had given her a false name, she never was able to identify him. He fled the scene, causing deaths, maimings, and riots in his wake.
When he woke in the morning, his face was covered in dried blood; Brian put in for leave the next day and spent four months in the Spine, living as the most primitive Gaels lived: eating raw meat, leaves from a tree, and spending his time thinking and performing exercises to increase his self-control. He would ferry boulders twice his weight across a river and back all day, try and dam the river with grains of sand, and spend hours hanging upside down by nothing but his feet from a tree. At the end of that time, Brian had reached a deep awareness, physical, mental, and spiritual. He had communicated with the spirits of the trees and learned from the rocks. He had listened to the sound of the mighty forest around him, and it had taught him patience. He had heard the wolves howl and they had taught him loyalty and courage. The snuffling of a boar taught him to never give up, while the growls of a bear taught mercy and compassion. The eagle taught Brian how to love, and the owl wisdom. Brian went into the Spine a despairing boy, more than half-mad with despair, and he came out a calmer, patient man.
Roleplaying Sample:N/A
Age: 19
Race:Werewolf
Occupation:Bagpiper in the Royal Alban Longbowmen and Skirmishers, a sub unit of the Savage Faithful, one of the many pipers for the Savage Faithful over all. When not piping, he’s a Skirmisher or Longbowman
Allegiance:Broddring Kingdom, King Angrenost, and the King’s household.
Physical Description:Tall, as most barbarians, and the Gaels, especially are, Brian reaches a height of 6’3½”. His hair is black, giving rise to his name, Brian Dubh, while it is a relic from a Hispaniola warrior invader of Alba. His eyes are green, a left over from a Scandian invader. He’s got a good pair of lungs, useful when playing the Great Northern Pipes from Alba. His low brow and deep-set eyes give him a near constant angry appearance, enhanced when in thought. His chin is covered in a brown growth of beard, seeming to make his jaw line disappear. Long hours piping and drawing a longbow have given his muscles strength, though they have a stringy appearance. He’s scrawny and gangly, like any tall youth, though he has the grace and coordination of a wolf, but his nose still has the snub of boyhood, due to his age.
His sword is the basket hilt variety, the blade thirty-one inches long, typical of Alban swords, while his dirk’s blade is seventeen inches long. The sgian dubh, or black knife, has a blade three inches long and is kept in the stockings. The stocking is worn with the war kilt, belted on, with loose material gathered up and tossed over the shoulder not used to wield a sword, attached to a waistcoat or shirt. Brian’s kilt is the typical hunting kilt; dark muted colors of the brown, blue, and green variety. His longbow is the oak of the Alban Highlands, but it has a core of yew. The arrows for it are three feet monsters, while the bow is in proportion: six feet.
Personality: Fun loving, life loving, enjoying nothing more than a good joke, and easy-going, Brian has made many friends among his fellow Savage Faithful, and even civilian servants serving the Division. His main past time when not on duty, not sleeping, and when not chasing deer as wolf in the forest outside Carvala, Brian is a chevalier and lover. Well versed in the arts of love and witty repartee, thanks to his education as a major clan chieftain’s son in Alba, he can discuss art, politics, military tactics, history, and shoot down the major religion of the Broddring Kingdom while defending his own paganism with a zeal worthy of a Crusader.
Well able to compose poetry, Brian has used that ability to woo women into his bed, or more accurately, let him into theirs. Though young, he uses his boyish charm to great effect in his passionate conquests. He views each and every woman as a beautiful goddess to be worshiped at the altar of a bed.
History: Born nineteen years ago to a major clan “Laird”(Alagaesian equivalent is a petty king, united under a High King), Brian was educated in the subjects deemed appropriate by his father from age four, namely manners, sword fighting, stealth, art, classical poetry, music, history, bagpipe playing, arithmetic, languages, sword dancing, and everything of that vein; namely something that would land him a wife. At age twelve, Brian went on his first cattle raid with an uncle. He came back with a lump on his head and two kine to his name. In the tradition of the Gaels, Brian went on many raids, but on one in his seventeenth year, he first made love to the daughter of an enemy laird. Promptly discovered, the laird demanded satisfaction. Brian agreed, and they dueled. Brian won, but in the process killed the laird, causing Brian to flee from retribution.
Brian turned to Alagaesia; a land rife with opportunities for a man brave and willing enough to seize them. Seize them he did; he enlisted in the Savage Faithful as an Alban longbow man and bagpipe player.
It was on a routine patrol in the ninth month of his seventeenth year with three other longbow men, forming a bowteam and two swordsmen, when they encountered a huge wolf, larger than anything any of the other men had seen. In the ensuring fight, it killed four, bit Brian and the other man, and fled with Brian’s arrow sticking out its side. Brian had killed it, but at a cost he would forever regret. The other man died, while at the first full moon Brian turned into a black-brown wolf, the size of a small bear. He fled the city as a wolf, refusing to kill the citizens he had sworn an oath for, refusing the scents of blood and life to escape to the comfort of a forest. In it Brian tried to come to terms with his new reality, but the scent of a stag maddened him and sent him careening through the trees. He brought it down with a snap to the great river of blood in the neck, and he feasted on raw deer flesh.
In the morning he came to his senses naked, in a clearing, with a ravaged deer carcass near him, and a pile of vomit four feet away. As Brian sat trying to remember the previous night, a gust of wind brought the scent of a sheep to him. It was a mile away, and when Brian smelled it, the night came back in a rush. He groaned. His name had come true; MacTìre meant “Son of the countryside”, which was poetic Alban Gaelic for wolf. He truly was a wolf. Brian despaired for ten minutes, when a thought came to him. Why despair? He could live life the same, save he had to keep his temper under control at all times and make sure he was gone on overnight camping trips on the full moon. Brian returned to Carvala, and pretended nothing had happened. He managed to keep himself under fairly good self-control, until the time he miscalculated the full moon. It was the twelfth month of his seventeenth year. He was in the bed of a lover, when he woke as a wolf. He managed to only badly disfigure her, not kill her, and since he had given her a false name, she never was able to identify him. He fled the scene, causing deaths, maimings, and riots in his wake.
When he woke in the morning, his face was covered in dried blood; Brian put in for leave the next day and spent four months in the Spine, living as the most primitive Gaels lived: eating raw meat, leaves from a tree, and spending his time thinking and performing exercises to increase his self-control. He would ferry boulders twice his weight across a river and back all day, try and dam the river with grains of sand, and spend hours hanging upside down by nothing but his feet from a tree. At the end of that time, Brian had reached a deep awareness, physical, mental, and spiritual. He had communicated with the spirits of the trees and learned from the rocks. He had listened to the sound of the mighty forest around him, and it had taught him patience. He had heard the wolves howl and they had taught him loyalty and courage. The snuffling of a boar taught him to never give up, while the growls of a bear taught mercy and compassion. The eagle taught Brian how to love, and the owl wisdom. Brian went into the Spine a despairing boy, more than half-mad with despair, and he came out a calmer, patient man.
Roleplaying Sample:N/A
